Z-Axis
by palomino333
Summary: As their second anniversary together passes, McCoy's relationship with Spock deepens. Slash.


Author's Notes: The antimatter explosion in New Athens, McCoy staying on Centaurus's surface for two weeks, McCoy's sister Donna, the _Enterprise_ taking a tiny black hole and a nuclear warhead directly, Joanna studying pre-med, and Kirk running afoul of Centaurus's government is from _Crisis on Centaurus_ by Brad Ferguson. For further background, it was due to Kirk assisting the terrorists affiliated with the instigator of the explosion to leave and stand trial on Earth, as opposed to the more vigilante method of Centaurus's government, that caused him to be heavily disliked. Spock pulling a sword from a stone at his coming of age ceremony was from _Vulcan's Forge_ by Josepha Sherman and Susan Shwartz. McCoy's relationship with Emony Dax is mentioned in "Trials and Tribbleations" from DS9. McCoy's desk chair having the ability to rock is from _Doctor's Orders_ by Diane Duane. Joanna's relationship with Suvak is a reference to the comic "All the Infinite Ways." Spock being offered a discount for being in Starfleet is from _Dreams of the Raven_ by Carmen Carter.

Ceres, the _Pirogov_ , and the _Jenner_ are my creations. Inspired by "Sleep" by Poets of the Fall. Uncut version of this is on AO3.

* * *

The old shop was, as humans would call it, quaint. Spock would better describe it as anachronistic, as were several stores in this English village, contrasting the surrounding higher tech of transporters and hovercars nearby. It reminded him of humanity's rather curious clinging to its ancestral past. Then again, Vulcan did, as well. Despite the age of reason that had uplifted the planet, he, at his ceremony of ascension to manhood, had to signify such with pulling an ancestral sword from a stone.

The shop was crowded with curios about ages past, ranging from sculpture, to tapestry, to painting. Myths of Celtic and Anglo origin stared back at him, while on a shelf sat a yellowed copy of Tennyson's _Idylls of the King_. He continued to explore until his eyes fell upon a box, shabby and off to the side. Tugging it to himself on the shelf, Spock looked over the box, and found the design, what little he could see of it, interesting. Within a boat sat a blonde-haired girl, her expression downcast. He recalled, having read the _Idylls_ previously, the tale of the Lady of Shallot, who had died within such a vessel, and realized that it was her. Kept away from the world by a curse, only to view it by her mirror's shadows, she at last left, only to succumb to it. Perhaps it was more logical for her to live out her years as was, but Spock understand her foolish decision. It was better to be free, if only for a moment, than to remain caged. Hence, his leaving for Starfleet.

But then, it also reminded him of his mate. McCoy was currently assisting the relief effort on Centaurus after the antimatter explosion. He had grown too used to Leonard's presence, and found that he was concerned by his mate's exhaustion upon the planet. That was to be understood, however, as he was working upon several patients that had been affected by the blast. The anniversary of their becoming lovers was approaching, and he found the gift fitting. Though it would not necessarily bring the doctor sleep, it held the sentiment. And humans did value their sentiments.

"What is the amount that you will charge for this item?" Spock inquired, indicating the box with a gesture.

The shop owner spared it a glance. "It will need fixed, sir, so it is discounted. I can also find you a better object."

Spock shook his head. "It will give me something to do in my off hours."

The shop owner glanced down at the gold braids on Spock's sleeves. "I can also add an additional discount for your service."

"Then, if you would offer it, I wish to apply it to the item I desire," Spock answered.

The shop keeper sighed. "Twenty credits."

Kirk greeted Spock from the front of a nearby pub. The captain was leaning against the wall and giving a smile and inviting wave to a passing young woman. She coquettishly blew him a kiss before walking off. Spock still found the public display of affection humans shared to be odd, though the mental dialogues he shared with Leonard were rather lacking in decency, as well. Spock managed to keep his hands and eyes upon his work at his science station, while the doctor, joking innocently by the captain's chair, sent him an image of himself squirming in the Vulcan's lap.

"Afternoon, Mr. Spock, enjoying the sights?"

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Indeed, Captain, as you also seem to be." As Kirk glanced down at the music box in the Vulcan's hands, he elaborated, "The Isles are a satisfactory face to visit, although rather cold."

Kirk studied the box. "May I have a closer look?" Spock handed it over, and Kirk gently turned it over in his hands, running his finger across the embroidery, and cleaning off the dust. "The craftsmanship is beautiful. Give it a little bit of work, and it'll look like new."

"I would not say that, captain," Spock replied as he handed it back over, "it is too old to be considered such. However, I would not venture to say that it was genuine. Likely, it was a contemporary model after the Federation's founding."

Kirk gestured for him to walk alongside him, and they continued down the road. "A sort of link to the past, then?" He inquired.

"More in the manner of clinging to it," he replied, "It entails for the past to be remembered as a different light than it was, and for the mistakes to be repeated, if it is upheld as a shining example."

"But does history not repeat itself?" Kirk inquired. Spock nodded, and he asked, "In that case, why did you purchase it?"

Spock tilted his head. "Its story is one that I prefer out of the Arthurian legends."

Kirk grinned. It slowly slipped off, and he turned back to business. "Scotty tells me that the repairs are almost completed. We'll be space-worthy by 0900 hours tomorrow. Afterwards, we'll head to Centaurus, and pick up Bones." The _Enterprise_ , after taking a direct hit from a nuclear warhead, and passing through a miniature black hole upon entering Centaurus's atmosphere, had limped back to Earth, the loss of the spaceport upon New Athens's destruction, and the entire dissolution of Centaurus's government, making it impossible for repairs to be had on the planet's surface.

"The relief missions will begin, then," Spock confirmed, and Kirk nodded. After Centaurus's loss, the mission was interrupted, as the _Enterprise_ , along with several other ships, would be assisting distant colonized worlds that would otherwise not see it without the major spaceport.

"It never stops," Kirk commented quietly. Swallowing, he continued, "Centaurus will take decades to recover from this, and now the diplomatic angle of it is also experiencing problems."

Spock glanced to the side but saw no one else staring at him. Illogical. The Federation had come far form the days of first contact. "What you are seeing, Captain, is merely the stirring of other forces that lay beneath the surface. While it is commendable that the Federation has achieved a union of multiple races, there is still resistance to it, for multiple reasons."

"Likely, Centaurus will be reduced to a talking point," Kirk commented, and shook his head. "Politics, such as they are."

"Agreed," Spock replied, his new project beginning to fill his thoughts as they continued away.

XXXXXX

McCoy held out his hand for the scalpel, and, grasping it, carefully cut away the tumor that had built up within the patient's lower abdomen. The hanging yellow light made him feel as if he was within an old documentary. Low-tech hell. The masks he and the gathered residents he wore were especially an indicator of this, given the poor hygiene the makeshift field hospital offered within the confines of the university's library, its bookshelves and desks stripped out. Mesh netting had been secured over the operating tables to prevent bugs and debris from the ceiling from falling onto the patients. With the school's med lab a heap of rubble, there was no other choice. Far off drilling and banging of hammers was heard as the library's structural integrity was slowly worked back into place. The first few days, the ceiling had been caving in, causing surgeries to be interrupted from tables being moved, and patients nearly falling off beds in alarm. Some areas were still partitioned off as too structurally dangerous. A quadrant of what remained of Centaurus's police force stood guard outside.

"Normally," McCoy commented as he began to manually remove the tumor, "This would not be done by hand. As you all are aware, we have since advanced to the point where a machine could, if the radiation is detected early enough, prevent this from spreading." He raised his blue eyes, and the residents nodded. Lowering them, he continued, "In this case, however, as we are low on supplies, this will entail also removing any healthy tissue that is nearby. Any questions?"

"What is the likelihood of being in this sort of situation again?" A male student asked.

"Speaking as a frontier doctor, likely. As a domestic doctor, unlikely." He gestured for a student to apply pressure to an area that was beginning to bleed. "Nevertheless, for as barbaric as I find medical practice of the previous centuries to be, the death toll we saw during the first week was caused by two things. One," he cut carefully into the tumor, and another student adjusted the suture holding the patient's abdomen open for him, "decapitation of the majority of competent heads of staff, and two," checking the patient's vitals, another student nodded confirmation at him, "collapse of infrastructure. When those two elements are in play, what we must fall back on are the 'old ways,' as contemptible as they are. Learn them, as you'll need them, but only as a final resort. Anyone else?" Silence met him, the others preoccupied with their work. How he was pulling off being a teacher, he had no idea.

Eventually, the shift turned over, and McCoy stripped off his mask to leave the main room. A few scattered medical practitioners had made their way to the university grounds in the beginning of the week and were similarly instructing the students.

Federation relief was still days behind, and the _Enterprise_ 's sickbay could only spare so much equipment to give to Centaurus. He had faith in M'Benga to hold everything together, as he so often did, but was concerned about the _Enterprise_ limping back home. Jim and Scotty could figure it out, but the ship had nearly fallen to pieces after taking the nuclear warhead on. It wasn't so much getting home that was an issue, rather it was who could be lying in wait.

Water hissed from the direction of the showers. Bugs were crawling along a puddle, and McCoy brought his foot down on them in annoyance. The worst of the patients had been transported directly to the _Enterprise_ , but not everyone could have been taken. Hospital ships such as the _Pirogov_ and _Jenner_ had been signaled, but they were just entering Centaurus's system, from what he had heard this morning. Thumbing through the shift schedule, he checked over the pages, searching for his daughter's name. For as much as he would appreciate a shower, he wanted to be able to see her. Discouraging favoritism, he and Joanna had been placed on differing teams, with their shifts occasionally intersecting. It was one of the better days, he noted, heading off toward the staff and student quarters, which were converted reading rooms and offices partitioned off by curtains. Showing his command braids to the Centaurus policeman on guard duty, he was grudgingly allowed to pass. The sooner McCoy left, he figured, the happier they would be, hypocrites that they were.

McCoy paused before the curtain and scratched on it. Hearing a call of "come in," he entered.

"Hi, Dad," Joanna greeted as he lifted the curtain to her quarters, which she shared with another student who had since gone on the alternative shift.

McCoy smiled, and brought his arms about her. "Hi Sweetheart." She was tired, and not just physically, her gaze haunted, and downcast. Her face was ghostly pale. Her cheeks were sunken in, and worry lines creased her forehead. She was as covered in dirt as he was, with old stains of blood, vomit, piss, and feces on her scrubs.

Joanna guided him to sit down beside her. "I heard relief's coming. Centaurus is starting to turn around."

"Things are going to get better before they get worse," McCoy advised, "If it gets too hot, you need to get out of here."

Joanna shook her head. "Dad, I can't go, I'm needed here." His eyes narrowed, and she walked over his words before he could retort. "You were barely older than me when you were in the middle of a war zone! I've been a legal adult for two years. Even if you ordered me to leave, I wouldn't go! Besides," she shrugged, "Someone has to look after Aunt Donna and Uncle Fred."

McCoy took a breath and stared up at the ceiling. "Kid, why do you have to be so damn difficult?"

She shrugged. "Learned from the best, I guess."

McCoy closed his eyes. Opening them, he looked at her with a pained expression. "If this is what you want Joanna, then fine, but keep me updated," placing his hand on her shoulder, he continued, "I haven't shown it as much as I should have, but I love you so much."

She smiled. "I love you, too, Dad, and I promise I will." Opting to change the subject, she asked, "Have you heard from Aunt Donna?"

"Barely," he muttered, "Aside from a message from her, letting me know that she and Fred were all right, not really much else. We lack the time to communicate. Besides," he flipped his communicator open, and put the clam shell in her hand. Fascinated, she poked and prodded at it experimentally. He allowed her, having shut it off hours ago. "I can't divert extra power to recharge this, strapped as we are. It needs to last me a few more days so I can signal the _Enterprise_ and get out of here." Dropping his voice, he added, "And please don't take it personally if I'm not able to see you on that day. Centaurus's government barely tolerates me right now. I don't want to cause a problem when my time is up."

"Because of Captain Kirk?" She asked, lifting her head. He nodded, and she handed the communicator back to him.

"Let's try this again," Leonard decided, attempting to change the subject once more, "How's that boyfriend of yours?"

Joanna blushed. "Oh, Suvak? He left a couple of weeks before the crisis. We had a falling out."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he replied, deciding against prodding her further. Truth be told, he had thought it had been a matter of time, with Suvak being several years Joanna's senior.

Groaning in discomfort, she rubbed the back of her neck, sore from bending over the operating table. "I'm shocked you approved of us. Interspecies relationships are still seen as odd, these days."

McCoy barely stopped himself from smirking. "Vulcans are as sentient as we are. While we are culturally and biologically different, it doesn't mean we can't offer something of value to each other."

"But there's something we share in common, humans and Vulcans," Joanna commented quietly, looking away from him.

"What is it?"

Joanna raised her head, the strands of her ponytail falling over her face. "Madness."

Leonard grasped her hand at that. Her eyes flicked down at the motion. Joanna narrowed her eyes and caught her breath. She shrugged, and he let go. She brushed a strand of loose hair behind her ear but said nothing on the topic. Joanna had been lucky to have not be disintegrated by the antimatter explosion in New Athens or die of radiation poisoning from the fallout. Leonard's concerns seemed just petty by comparison.

McCoy swallowed, and found his voice. "I'm seeing someone." Joanna blinked in surprise. "You've met him already. His name's Spock," he continued, his voice slightly gruff.

Joanna's eyes widened, but she was careful to keep her voice down. "Commander Spock?" He nodded his head. "You mentioned him a few times in your letters to me. If you're happy, Dad, that's all that matters."

"You sure?" He asked.

She shrugged. "Not like I can give my approval or disapproval, anyway. You do what you want."

He turned his head away. "Yeah, well, just thought you wanted to know, since we don't talk often."

"Dad, it's okay, we're both busy. Sometimes I don't hear from you for months on end."

"Caught you off guard, didn't I?" He muttered.

"I didn't think you liked him," Joanna explained.

McCoy rubbed at his eyes. "It's complicated."

Joanna smiled, and shook her head. McCoy dropped his hand and motioned her over. "C'mere, kid." He brushed his thumb against her cheek, rubbing off the dust and grease that was stained on it. "You want a better answer, I guess?"

"Yeah, that'd be nice," she replied as she dropped his hand, "He's a good guy to be with, right?"

"He's a Vulcan, well," he caught himself, "half, but don't let him hear you say that. It's not always easy, but he's with me. I can rely on him."

Joanna looked down and gave a knowing smile. "Not very romantic, I know, but it's just as well." She shrugged. "Suvak wanted me to spend my years with him as an ambassador's wife. I'd either constantly be traveling with him or remaining on Vulcan. I didn't want that, yet. I didn't want to be away from my friends, and Aunt Donna and Uncle Fred. I just…" Her fist clenched, and she let it go. "I just want something stable, for now. It's pre-med on Centaurus right now, but it's mine." She shook her head. "Maybe I threw away a great opportunity, I don't know, but I don't feel ready to marry yet."

McCoy smiled. "Kid, you just turned twenty. Take your time."

She looked away from him. "I still miss him. When I told Suvak, he left." Joanna lowered her head to her hand.

McCoy kissed the top of her head. "I know it hurts, and it probably will for a long time, but you knew what you wanted for yourself, and chose it. I'm proud of you."

Joanna snorted. "I don't even know what I want, now. I just need time to figure it out."

"You're smarter than your mother and I were," he replied reassuringly.

A stuffed rabbit dangled from Joanna's one hand, while the other rubbed at her eyes, which were tearing up. Sweat shone on her red face and was beginning to soak through her nightgown as she stood in the doorframe. "Daddy, I'm cold," she whimpered.

Despite his medical training, McCoy had felt terrified for her as he scooped her up in his arms, the stuffed animal hitting the floor. Her temperature had run as high as forty degrees Celsius, prompting her to shiver in his arms, her teeth clacking together. She closed her eyes and whimpered as a cool cloth was placed on her head, and turned her head into her pillow, groaning from her sore throat, having coughed herself hoarse. McCoy hovered close to her, watching over her and tending to her. She had been sick with worse things, in later years, after moving to Centaurus. Despite having a functional hospital on several of the planet's cities, McCoy still tried to be at her side, or at least sent a message when he could not. Joanna had been slightly embarrassed by her father's protectiveness, but nonetheless had also been relieved to see him.

Joanna laid her head against his arm, and he lifted it slightly to let her relax against him.

"I want a baby," Jocelyn had decided, when his work had begun to drive a wedge between them. With a smile, she continued, "We'll be a real family." They both should've known better, that a child wasn't going to save a marriage, and putting that expectation on Joanna had been wrong. Her wording "real family" should have tipped him off, but at the time, he hadn't much given it thought. He was stressed from work, and tired of arguing with her. He also longed to spend more time with her and regain that closeness they had once had.

Jocelyn handed the signed custody papers to him. "She's yours, now." Her voice was quiet as she looked away from him. McCoy normally would have offered a word of comfort, but he was too mentally exhausted, from fighting, and from sadness, to say anything.

"Thanks." He placed the papers into a portfolio his lawyer had provided him with, and subconsciously held it close to himself. Jocelyn backed up and began to turn away. "Be careful, out there," McCoy said after her.

She stopped, and replied, "Leonard, enough." He did not see her again, face to face for several years.

At first, McCoy had bitterly thought Jocelyn had left Joanna with him because she had wanted more time to spend with Clay, but upon further reflection, had a suspicion as to otherwise. Jocelyn had Clay, but she no longer had her daughter. The more he thought of it now, it occurred to him that, had she taken Joanna, he would have been alone. Perhaps Jocelyn still did care about him, in a way, but that was something he couldn't be sure on. He hadn't expected her to leave him for another man, and that had happened. Still, she wouldn't have been that callous to toss Joanna aside. She rarely saw her daughter throughout Joanna's childhood after the divorce.

Joanna moved out of his grasp. Drawing up her knees, she hugged them to herself. "I used to wonder, when I was younger, if things could have been different, between the three of us." He'd wished the same, multiple times, but before he could say as much, Joanna continued, "But compared to what's happened here, it's so miniscule." With a heavy sigh, she broke off. "We're not messed up, are we?" She asked quietly.

Leonard chose against coddling her. It wouldn't have been what Joanna would have wanted, and it wasn't right. "Look, to say that none of us is carrying scars from this is a lie. There are likely wounds you still are tending to, and I'm sorry for that. I can never take back what your mother and I put you through, and my leaving you." He ran a hand through his hair, which was sticking up from sweat and fallen dirt, to settle his nerves, "I'm thankful for the fact that you still talk to me now. But, to answer your question, you're not inherently broken. You're just healing."

Her gaze became faraway. "I guess what's occurred has also put a few things into perspective. I was scared that I wouldn't see you again, and that you'd never find out what happened to me."

McCoy didn't think. Grasping her, he tugged her over and crushed her to his chest. Joanna squeaked in surprise. Placing his chin on top of her head, he shut his eyes against the tears welling in them. He saw it in the field, young people dying before their time during missions gone wrong. Vaporized, mangled, busted, beaten, broken, all intricate forms in disarray. But not her, not Joanna…

He didn't realize he was shaking until Joanna put a hand on his arm. "Dad," she coaxed. When he didn't relax his grip, she continued, dropping her voice, "Dad, it's all right. I'm here."

Leonard slowly let go, and she crawled out of his arms. Turning his head away, he wiped at his eyes. "Sorry you had to see that," he muttered.

"It's okay, you were worried," Joanna soothed. In an abashed tone, she continued, "Maybe I shouldn't have said that."

"You're allowed to be afraid, you know," he replied sardonically, and Joanna smiled.

Leaning forward, she caught a yawn in her hand. "It's getting late."

He rose, and Joanna lay on her side, tugging her blanket over herself. Leonard patted the side of Joanna's arm, and her eyes closed. "Get some rest, sweetheart."

XXXXXX

The painted piece was the easiest aspect of the box. Taking a small brush and chisel, Spock first cleared off the faded parts before repainting the image. Admittedly, Spock knew that his coloring was too basic, and imperfect, but the lady appeared to be slowly coming back to life.

XXXXXX

"Welcome back aboard, Dr. McCoy," Captain Kirk greeted.

McCoy raised a hand and rubbed at his eyes. "Hell, when did these lights get so bright?" He was tired, and admittedly, cranky from the past couple of weeks, not being able to shower before returning. Lieutenant Kyle subtly reached over to dim the lights, causing McCoy to smirk.

Spock, his arms folded from where he stood next to Kirk, commented, "We shall have to become used to Dr. McCoy's witchcraft, once again. Dr. M'Benga was favorable, in his more logical manner of thinking."

"Oh, Mr. Spock, somehow I missed you, too," McCoy replied, climbing down from the transporter pad, "Must be because I'm so used to having my own personal rain cloud floating after me."

Kirk gestured, and they left the room. Spock gently put him down. "Had I possessed the ability to fly, doctor, I would have placed it toward better use than following you."

"Bones how is it, down there?" Kirk asked, glancing back over his shoulder at him.

"It's still a struggle," McCoy replied, kneading at the black bag slung across his shoulder, "Sanitation and lack of supplies are major problems. Everyone's overworked." He frowned. "I can't twist your arm for another two weeks, huh?"

Kirk shook his head. "Not this time. We're unpopular there enough as it is."

"Illogical," Spock commented, "Your actions were only based upon legality, nothing more."

McCoy glanced at him in helpless frustration. "It's hard for me to blame them, Spock, much as I agree with you, considering how I have family down there."

"Perhaps, then, doctor, you should temper your empathy," he replied.

Kirk chose the middle ground between them. "Hence, by remaining there, we're only making things worse. Make yourself comfortable, Bones, we're heading off." McCoy detected a hint of bitterness in his captain's words, considering how Kirk had built a home for himself on Centaurus. He made a mental note to talk with him another time. Turning his head back, he tugged gently upon the bond he shared with Spock. McCoy gave him a hint of a suggestive smile as he detected a slightly fussy thought from Spock about his unkempt appearance. Spock merely raised his eyebrow.

XXXXXX

It was strange, really, how their personal lives were beginning to bleed into their work. It was not uncommon for Spock to meld with others to receive information, but this was on a different level.

Spock's thumb stroked down his face. Despite McCoy's biting remark to him about Chekov, there was still affection for him. It was, in its own manner, a possessiveness, given Spock's taciturn nature. The stroking anchored him to reality, though that was in a state of flux. His crewmates knew Spock as an instructor, but for him it was more, his mind opening, and welcoming its companion back.

"They are illusions, only."

McCoy's mind stirred frantically, much like a wild bird. He could not get past the guns that were pointed at him. He was going to die. Spock, however, refused to give up on him.

"They are shadows," Spock murmured, "illusions. They do not exist."

A hand grasped his consciousness. McCoy twisted against it, wishing to lope further into his delusions. For as much as he wanted to be free of them, being dragged back to reality was just as terrifying. The hand let go, and he slipped forward, only to land upon softness. Spock's consciousness encircled him endearingly, much like a pair of wings. For one moment more, he fought to get loose, worried that he would be entrapped, only to realize whose presence was joining with his again. It was not control, rather it was a duet, with McCoy gradually seeing Spock's point of view, and adjusting himself to it.

He found it concerning, even still, as it was influencing his thought process. He drew back into himself, wishing to put distance between himself and Spock. Rather than tugging him in, the Vulcan allowed him to move, the wings spreading further. McCoy relaxed. Funny, really, how his hobgoblin provided this place of comfort for him. He gave into the embrace and allowed Spock within himself once more.

"They do not exist," McCoy repeated softly, slowly adjusting to the vision Spock presented before him. It was almost farcical! How could he not have seen it before? He closed his eyes and felt serene as Spock's hand fell from his face. He nodded and moved to join Scotty as Kirk started over.

XXXXXX

Resetting the gears in the box, Spock nodded at his handiwork. They were no longer dusty, and he had extracted the rusted gears, oiling down those that could still feasibly work. Shutting the box, he decided to attempt a play test.

XXXXXX

The sky over Ceres was cloudless. Heat waves blurred Spock's vision from where he stood on the tower overlooking the fields of crops, alien to this word, prematurely brown and dying. Ceres had been one of the colonies directly affected by the loss of Centaurus's space port. The fields were collapsing from a lack of sufficient water and pesticides. The colonists within this region were suffering as a result, from heat stroke, disease borne by local vermin, and the beginnings of malnutrition.

The _Enterprise_ , as part of its relief, had been ordered to handle the disbursement of the proper supplies to repair the system for the next season, as well as medicine, food, and water. Kneeling back down, he repacked his tool kit. Glancing through the slats beneath the observation platform, he spotted McCoy's dark head, the doctor, apparently on break, shading himself beneath it. Descending the ladder, Spock placed the tool kit on the ground. "Good afternoon, doctor."

Fanning himself with a hand, McCoy replied tartly, "This must be paradise for you, Spock."

"Not necessarily. I would rather have you enjoy it, as well." Spock held out his two fingers, and McCoy relented, raising his own fingers to touch his to them.

"Home away from home," McCoy commented, turning to look out at the field before him, "until home goes dark."

"It reminds me, in a way, of Isis," Spock mused.

"Isis?" He inquired in surprise. "The cat woman?"

Spock nodded. "When I was able to pet her, I also shared her thoughts. Her partner is highly important to her, though not in her mission, only."

"How so?" McCoy inquired.

Spock turned away from him and stared out at the plants growing in the field. "Gary Seven was cultivated, much like these plants. She was minding him by function."

McCoy scowled. "Policing him, it sounds like."

"Perhaps," Spock offered, "However, it is the only life he has known."

"A cultivated one."

Spock shrugged. "In some ways, I could be considered such a thing. My birth was no accident. It was a result of genetic splicing by my parents." The frustration McCoy felt caused him to turn his head. "Do not think that it would mean that my father would be more understanding of me." McCoy immediately clamped down on his line of thought, as it would likely lead to something that he did not want to say.

Rerailing the previous conversation, McCoy shook his head. "The problem is, even if they say they care about the universe, it's to suit their own vision as they see fit. It isn't right for others to dictate our lives like that."

"Doctor, your reasoning is overly emotional, and lacking in context," Spock replied, "Each faction focuses upon its own agenda. They would be no different."

"Then you are fine with your own life being led? Spock, Seven was, for all intents and purposes, born into slavery, as were generations before him. That can't be overlooked," McCoy pointed out.

"No, it is not humane," Spock agreed, "However, Mr. Seven is so used to that sort of life, that to pull him from it would not be advisable. Mr. Evans was an example of that."

"Okay," McCoy permitted, "But what if, to preserve the universe as they see fit, they decide that a race must be killed off? People like Gary would have to allow innocents to suffer." Before Spock could answer him, McCoy's communicator went off. Flipping it open, he responded, "McCoy, here."

"My break's on, Doctor. I can stay here to clean up, but you're needed," M'Benga replied.

"Don't worry about it, M'Benga. I'll be right there. Go get some rest." Flipping it closed, he glanced over at Spock.

"Another time, perhaps," Spock offered.

Nodding, McCoy departed the unpleasant conversation. Spock continued to stare out at the vegetation and contemplated the adage of the needs of the many against the needs of the few, or the one. He did not find comfort in it, for this moment, but he chided himself. Logic was not meant to be comforting, it merely was the solution.

XXXXXX

The music box stopped abruptly, and groaned, the gears began to squeal as they wound in the box. Spock reopened it gently and pulled the small screwdriver back out. It appeared that he was closer to his goal, however his patience was still required.

XXXXXX

The music box tinkled away, and McCoy curled up on his side. At some point, he felt a pair of hands drawing about his shoulders, and a warm breath against the side of his neck. "Ashayam."

Cracking an eye open, he whispered, "Hi, darling." His one hand rose to Spock's and squeezed it.

"I see my gift is appreciated," Spock commented.

McCoy smiled, and replied, "You fixed it just for me."

"I have often assisted in repairs for shipboard systems. They are vital to you, yet you do not cherish such a thing," Spock pointed out, his breath whispering against McCoy's ear.

McCoy rolled his eyes. "That's your job, Spock. Don't expect thanks for it."

"I would level the same criticism against you," Spock replied evenly. McCoy swatted at him, only for Spock to catch his hand, and draw it against himself, his thumb running over it affectionately. He leaned his head up against McCoy's, and the doctor sighed. When Spock touched him, it bore a differing level of intimacy. Therein lay his fears and concerns, as well as his frustrations. He felt ugly at times, and Spock could see it. But then again, the Vulcan was ugly, as well, being petty against humanity's failings, and pedantic.

But it was all right, he realized. If that was the worst of it for them, then he could live with it. He had been living with it for two years. He'd lived with far worse for longer. But it wasn't a standard that he should use to judge it all by, as his perception was warped. Spock's was, too, given the entrapment between two worlds.

Fingers combed through his hair, and McCoy sighed at the motion, his eyes shutting. A warm mouth pressed kisses down the side of his face, and he groaned in pleasure, turning toward it. Spock kissed lower, causing him to arch slightly as his lips met his neck. With a last kiss at the base of his throat, Spock nuzzled up against him, and curled about him, his fingers continuing to brush against his hair. Lulled by McCoy's tiredness, he too, drifted off to sleep.

XXXXXX

McCoy opened his eyes and rubbed at them. Spock remained seated before him, his eyes closed. Likely he would remain as such for an hour. If there was self-discovery to be had upon meditation, McCoy did not find it. While it was peaceful to sit with his eyes closed, and focus upon regulating his breathing, the lack of allowing thoughts to pass did not assist him. Rather, he felt as if he was wasting time while other concerns were passing him by.

This was what Spock needed after the incident with Kollos. He paused to look at him once more before continuing. Spock truly had scared him, then. Logic had been badly distorted and warped, with images being shattered as his mind was shredded. McCoy had reached out to him through the bond, rushing in to attempt to fix it, only for Spock, with what little sense he had left, to firmly shove him out of his head. He knew it had been to protect him from absorbing, second hand, any damaging effects looking at Kollos would bring. However, had Spock not thrown him out, he could have possibly gotten some context into his mental deterioration, which would have assisted him in helping to cure him quicker, despite the risk.

Then again, Spock wasn't exactly a logical man when it came to his mate. There were still places they hid from one another. That was fine. McCoy's hand found his desk, and he stepped around to sit down. He rocked subconsciously in his chair as he thought. It wouldn't have been healthy the other way, for the two to be completely joined at the hip. Humans and Vulcans weren't from hive mind societies, and likely, he and Spock would probably kill each other out of annoyance at some point. That was what concerned him, that small annoyances would turn to larger problems, if they saw enough of each other too often. Hence, separate quarters on duty. With Jocelyn, it was the opposite problem, in that he had seen too little of her.

He stopped his rocking motion by putting his foot down. Spreading his elbows over the chair's arms, he folded his hands. Comparing this to what was lost with Jocelyn wouldn't help, but that was an old demon that enjoyed McCoy's company far too much to leave. Nancy had proved a second chance, but he'd chosen work over her, thinking he would screw it all up again. Besides, he had had Joanna to worry over at that point, having not yet left for Starfleet. His other relationships, such as those with Emony Dax and Tonia had been fleeting, and there remained this Vulcan who continued to vex him even now.

He kept his eyes upon Spock's unmoving black head. The amount of people who saw Spock in a vulnerable manner could be counted on one hand. He had at first seemed to McCoy as utterly alien to him. He had snapped backward upon it, anthropomorphizing him to the point where perhaps, in retrospect, it would have been deemed offensive. He was not necessarily proud of his initial behavior, especially so after he had realized that Spock was more human at his core than he had first thought.

Miranda and he, he understood, had that in common with each other. He had been able to detect her blindness easily due to his medical training, however the deeper understanding of its implications leaned more upon his psychological training, and his own experience. Miranda was utterly attractive, and their innocuous flirting hadn't given Spock a reason for pause; as the old sentiment held, it was merely "window shopping."

He wondered how much Kollos had sensed of him, within Spock's mind. The Medusan didn't seem to be an individual to pry too far, and nonetheless, Spock wouldn't let him. McCoy envied him his prowess at telepathy, but he chided himself. This hadn't been an issue until he'd left Earth. It was strange, when Kollos had greeted him in such a warm manner, however. It was Spock's body talking, but McCoy knew it wasn't fully him. Kollos seemed to have liked him, but he couldn't tell if this was due to Spock's influence.

McCoy put a hand to his head. This was becoming too confusing. He found his own mind to be difficult enough to navigate, as was. Having Spock, then Kollos and Miranda by extension, in his mind was hard to completely analyze. He swallowed, knowing that he had also experienced this, before, when Spock's counterpart in the alternate universe had forcibly melded with him. He understood, then, why Spock was extremely careful in who he allowed to touch him. Not for the first time, he was concerned for Spock's health, but knew he could not force Spock to submit to an evaluation, unless he acted erratically.

He lowered his hand. He was being too sentimental. This was his comrade, who was as capable of performing his duty as he was. Looking to the side, he picked up the digital letter Joanna had sent to him from Centaurus. She was all right, although concerned about the local government of Centaurus and the Federation beginning to clash. A second message from Donna was also in his inbox, detailing the progress she and Fred were making in helping to disburse relief efforts on the planet's surface, their own community having not been heavily affected due to it being rural. He began to compose replies to both.

After the passing of an hour and a half, there was a tug upon the bond that caused him to raise his head and put the PADD down. "Welcome back," McCoy greeted.

Spock rose from the floor. "I had not left."

"Physically, no," he replied simply. McCoy knew that Spock didn't wish to hear of his intimate thoughts during his meditation and decided against prying into them.

Spock, sensing McCoy's frustration with the past-time of meditation, noted, "It will take practice. I find it somewhat arrogant that while it took you years of study to become a licensed medical doctor, you are expecting this to not take as long."

"If this is supposed to help me, it shouldn't be difficult to learn," McCoy muttered.

"To utilize your wording, doctor, this is your treatment. It does not have to be fully pleasurable to be effective, much like your medicines. What is your current obstacle?" Spock inquired.

McCoy shrugged. "I'm just sitting down with my eyes closed. Nothing's getting done."

"I could say the same for your socialization with our crewmates. Nothing is being accomplished, beyond social interaction. I could also say the same for drinking," he commented, "It depends upon how you wish to spend your time. And," Spock tilted his head, "you seem to wish to spend your time with me."

McCoy shrugged. "Not one of my best decisions, but yeah."

"You do not need to meditate with me, but I recommend that to you." Spock shrugged. "I do care for you, after all."

McCoy's hand clenched upon the desk. "If something's wrong with you, you tell me."

"No," Spock replied, and McCoy's nails drove into his palm at his defiance.

"What do you mean, no?" He snapped.

"There is no need. Most often, I will not be susceptible to injury or disease that could harm humans. You need not waste resources upon me. Then there is the fact that, most often, I can work through such setbacks, so long as my skills are required," Spock explained calmly.

"Until you collapse from the strain," McCoy muttered.

"You are projecting."

"it doesn't matter," he replied, "I worry, and for good reason. If something happened to you, I wouldn't forgive myself."

"Then do not incriminate yourself," he replied flatly, "If you put it upon yourself to protect me, then you deny me my agency. I desire a lover, not a martyr."

"Don't you lie to me," McCoy growled, and Spock arched an eyebrow. Folding his arms about himself, McCoy hissed, "You'd also hand yourself over to protect me."

Spock shook his head. "I would be doing my duty as your commander. That is different."

"Keep bending your meanings as much as you want, Spock. You're still trying to mislead me."

"And you are not?" Spock inquired. McCoy scowled as he continued, "There are problems that I must face alone. It is not an insult to you, rather it is the fact that I do not desire for us to become too close."

"Then why did you meld with me, last year?"

"I desire for you to be with me, but for us to retain our individual identities. I do not wish to lose who you are."

Spock didn't want to be lonely, and McCoy understood why. He had considered ending it all after Jocelyn had left, only to drag himself back from the edge for Joanna's sake. Spock had faced solitude far longer than him, even when surrounded by others. Perhaps it was an irrational fear, based upon his own experience, that made him think in such a manner. But they were different people and dealt with things according to situation and temperament. If Spock thought of him any less for it, he didn't tell him.

Reading his thoughts, Spock rose and walked over to him. "I won't."

"Then you come back to me," he demanded, "However mangled you may get, it's what I'm here for."

"You seem to have little faith in my abilities to defend myself, doctor," Spock noted.

"I have evidence to the contrary," McCoy pointed out, "Namely, your medical record."

"You also have been injured, though it is more a result of your own errors," Spock pointed out.

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Ah yes, I forgot. Not everyone is as perfect as you are."

"Doctor, I do not profess to be perfect, however I will point out the factual superiority Vulcans have."

McCoy smirked. "That so? Well, now, then," he backed up a few steps, "I should be on my way. After all, you would want a superior mate."

He never made it to the door. Spock seized his shoulders. McCoy's smirk broadened into a grin at Spock's playfulness as his mate replied, "I would not view it in such a manner. You are, while flawed, the man I have chosen. Do not think you can so easily leave me, Leonard."

"So, what exactly have I gotten myself into?"

"I do not have the answer yet."

"Never took you for a thrill seeker."

"With you, I must be," Spock replied with a note of amusement in his voice. Raising his thumb, he moved to push back strands of McCoy's hair.

"Hey!" McCoy called out in annoyance, swatting at his hand, and backing out of the way.

"I would prefer to groom my mate, if the need arises. After all, I would want others to see that you are not being neglected, correct?" Spock inquired.

McCoy snorted, continuing to move away from him. "I'm a grown man. I can take care of myself, thank you."

Moving after him, Spock replied, "Yes, but I find it only fair, if you demand for me to be coddled by you."

McCoy allowed himself to be grabbed by the waist and swung about by Spock. "Yeah, well, I don't have to like it."

He grunted as Spock moved him up to carry him over his shoulder. "In that case, Ashayam, I shall see what can be done about that. Having an unruly mate would be a hindrance."

McCoy, caught off guard by the fact that his rear end was now up in the air, replied, "Keep dreaming, darling." Spock affectionately squeezed his legs. McCoy rolled his eyes as he was carried away.

XXXXXX

The music box tinkled out its last note. Spock, satisfied with his handiwork, rewound the machine to begin it again.


End file.
